


.yours.and.mine.

by zeraparker



Series: .all.too.briefly. universe [3]
Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boundaries, Comfort, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Protectiveness, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sleepiness, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: The mattress dips, making him shift. Andre smiles when he feels the heat of another body settle on the bed behind him, the sure touch of fingers splayed wide over his biceps.“You’re back,” Andre murmurs, his voice sounding strange to himself through the noise cancelling headphones. Not being able to hear a reply, not being able to see with the sleep mask still in place over his eyes, Andre’s other senses are heightened. He can feel the prickly rasp of short stubble against his shoulder, followed by the tender touch of lips.***Lemans 2019





	.yours.and.mine.

**Author's Note:**

> More of these two! 
> 
> Also, small content warning ahead, I didn't know what to put in the tags: Tom is Mr. Arsehole in this, and he is pushing some boundaries that dabble into non-con territory, though the situation is resolved very quickly, and it's definitely more of a feel good fic than anything. If you're sensitive to this, please read at your own risk.

Friday in Lemans means no racing, no time spend in the car. The mechanics are dissecting the cars again, as much as the regulations allow between Qualifying and the race start on Saturday, repairing what needs repairing, preparing for the conditions the weather forecast deems most likely.

For the drivers it means endless hours of media work and briefings, going in detail over the strategies for the race, all possible scenarios and then some. It’s not as physically exhausting, but Andre can feel the need to get in the car, do something with the adrenaline that’s built up over the seemingly endless Super Season. He goes on a run around the track in the morning, chasing the rest of the Rebellion drivers and the mechanics that have come along around the corners, discussing curbs and lines with Neel as they pass them. The parade around noon is always a highlight of the week, being cheered on by the fans, celebrated like gods. The first time on the parade is still burnt into his genes despite how long ago it has been, and he can see the same awe in the eyes of the rookies around him, their first taste of something great. It’s a feeling that doesn’t grow old.

Friday is for recuperation too though, charging up the batteries, so no matter how much Andre wants to be out there, throw the car around the track, he knows he’s got to sleep and relax. The anxiety about the hours ahead has already taken a hold of him, the frustration about the futility of it all with the Toyotas in another league and the unfair wish of something taking them out of the race gnawing uncomfortably at the edges of his mind. There is the team dinner at the end of the day, to swear them all in for the race ahead, and he’s actually looking forward to it, to all the members of the team he doesn’t spend enough time with, who’s engagement and sacrifices never get the limelight the drivers get, who deserve so much more.

The dinner won’t start for another couple hours though and Andre finds himself curled up in bed in his motorhome, eyes closed. Music is playing softly over the noise cancelling headphones that do more than the thin walls. With his eyes closed behind the soft fabric of a sleep mask he can almost imagine being home, or at least in some nice hotel room, something bigger than the tin box lined up in the paddock among all the other drivers, a constant murmur of voices and the noises from the garages filtering in, keeping him on the edge of sleep, dozing rather than the deep sleep he covets.

The air is cool inside the motorhome, the changing conditions outside having turned in more on the chilly side than the sweltering, thunderstorm prone conditions some had foretold. Andre has stripped down to his boxer briefs. He’s curled up under the blanket facing the wall and the milky windowpane above, hugging one of the pillows to his chest; Helmut’s pillow. There was never any doubt about them sharing the motorhome when they’d already done so for the past years, everyone is rooming with someone in the close quarters of the paddock anyway. Changing that now would draw more attention to them than taking it as is, and Andre certainly doesn’t mind. Helmut had arrived a couple days ahead of him and just seeing his luggage all over the place had made Andre smile when he’d first entered the motorhome to drop off his things; falling asleep against Helmut’s body still feels new enough to make him a little giddy about it, sharing a pillow and lazy kisses in the morning before they go for breakfast with the rest of the team.

They’re the only moments Andre doesn’t have to share Helmut with the rest of the team: it was Neel’s idea last year that had the team approach Helmut before the beginning of the Super Season, offering the job as head physio. Andre had been nothing but supportive back then, knowing how much they would all profit of his expertise and calm. He still stands by the decision being the right one as he’d watched Helmut exceed their expectation, becoming a vital part of the team as much as the mechanics and the engineers, offering help to everyone and gaining the drivers’ trusts within days; the only downside being that Andre isn’t the sole focus of his attention whenever they are at Rebellion, that Andre doesn’t have more rights than any of the other drivers to claim Helmut’s time and attention for himself. He cherishes these minutes alone even more, drawing them out for as long as he can get away with.

They’re keeping it low; they’ve both been around Lemans for long enough that they know the thin walls of the motorhomes barely mute anything louder than softly spoken conversation. There’s the underlying promise of more, though: like the race coming ever closer, there’s a vague promise of _after_, of adrenaline fuelled stress relief, the taste of victory champagne that Andre doesn’t dare hope for with the number of engine issues during the week. Only the certainty that Bern is just another week away, that the days in between will be a race of itself, heading for Paris first for more sim work and then down to Switzerland, keeps Andre of thinking any further into the future, to the long weeks of Mediterranean summer heat spreading out endlessly until the start of the next season in late autumn; whether he’ll set his foot into an endurance car before the FE season starts is yet to be decided too, and it leaves a queasy feeling in his stomach, like the dark smudge of storm clouds at the edge of the horizon of a blue skyed summer day.

It’s those endless summer days that Andre sets his mind on now, a better option than his fading trust in the engine or the car he’ll pilot in less than 24 hours, or the growing anxiety about the next season, about the choices he’ll have to make, Neel springing the question of whether Andre would join Porsche at him whenever he gets the chance. More than once he’d shushed Neel, looking around as to make sure Jean-Eric didn’t overhear. He clutches the pillow tighter, taking a deep breath that he releases with a sigh.

The mattress dips, making him shift. Andre smiles when he feels the heat of another body settle on the bed behind him, the sure touch of fingers splayed wide over his biceps.

“You’re back,” Andre murmurs, his voice sounding strange to himself through the noise cancelling headphones. Not being able to hear a reply, not being able to see with the sleep mask still in place over his eyes, Andre’s other senses are heightened. He can feel the prickly rasp of short stubble against his shoulder, followed by the tender touch of lips. When sharp teeth dig into the soft skin of his neck, Andre gasps, feeling some of the tension slip from his body. He lies still, compliant under the mark that’s being worked into his skin knowing the placement will easily be hidden under his shirt. He savours the pain, sighing contently when it’s soothed away by the gentle swipes of tongue and lips.

Stretching languidly, he rolls onto his back, feeling the hand that’s caressed his biceps stroke over his chest. Andre reaches up, dragging the bulk of his headphones from his ears, the music he’d been listening to replaced by the busy murmur of the paddock outside the bubble of his motorhome.

“Hey,” Andre says, lifting his head wanting to be kissed, and for a long, drawn out moment everything is perfect: their lips moving against each other, the firm hand cupping his cheek to hold his face up, the warmth of the strong body against his side, leaning half on top of him. He opens his lips, inviting the kiss to deepen, giving himself over to the tongue licking into his mouth.

A split second later, and Andre is scrambling to get away, hitting the wall of the motorhome with the back of his head in his struggle for space, the rubber band securing the sleep mask over his eyes snapping in his haste to get it off.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Tom grins at him, a curious frown across his brow. “Who were _you_ expecting? Your French boyfriend?” He makes a theatrical pause, tilting his head as if he’s thinking hard. “What was that they call you? _Jeandre_?” He props his head up on one arm, still lazily sprawled across the other side of the bed like he owns it. “Cute.”

Andre rubs his hand over his face, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. “Fuck.” He takes a deep breath, sitting up to lean against the wall, aware of his state of undress, aware of the way Tom looks at him like he wants to eat him alive. “What are you doing here?”

Tom shrugs nonchalantly. “You had a shit Qualifying. I wanted to see how you’re doing. For old times’ sake, right? It always brought you good luck when I had you before the race.” He reaches out for Andre, stroking his fingers through the silver hair at his temple. “I didn’t think I’d like this, but it looks really good on you.” Andre flinches, averting his eyes. He still isn’t comfortable with the by now obvious signs of age he can’t shake off anymore. “Aww, don’t be shy. You’ll always be my boy.” Andre swallows heavily but can’t help himself from turning his head into the caress he’d craved for so many years. Tom strokes the pad of his thumb along Andre’s jaw, down to his lips. “I’ve missed your mouth. It’s been too long.” He leans in, crowding Andre against the wall, but Andre twists away when Tom leans in to kiss him.

“No.”

“Oh come on, don’t be a tease now,” Tom insists, a hint of frustration colouring his voice when Andre turns his head away again.

“That’s enough.”

Helmut’s voice is quiet and controlled from the other side of the motorhome. Andre doesn’t dare meet his eyes, only seeing him come into view from his peripheral vision, his own eyes fixed on the sheets he is clutching in his hand.

“Go away, don’t you see you’re interrupting,” Tom drawls, his voice almost bored. His thumb is still rubbing circles against Andre’s jaw.

“That’s Andre’s decision, not yours,” Helmut replies easily, but Andre can taste the tension rolling off him barely concealed by his polite behaviour. He’s crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the closet that’s dividing the bedroom of the motorhome from the sitting area in front.

Tom sits back against the headboard, dropping his hand from Andre’s cheek to settle possessively on his thigh as he faces Helmut properly. “So you’re the one that’s currently fucking him,” Tom says, connecting the dots. “Don’t be jealous. It’s not like Andre is satisfied with just one cock for long. Get used to the idea of having to share.”

Andre can feel the tell-tale heat of a blush on his cheeks but forces himself to look up to meet Helmut’s eyes, seeing the firm set of his clenched jaw. “It’s not just fucking,” he insists, but his voice sounds brittle even to his own ears. The heavy, warm weight of Tom’s hand on his thigh makes him want to give in, agree with whatever Tom wants from him, a learned response that feels too hard to shake off. “It’s not.”

Tom laughs, a startling loud sound next to Andre, but it’s the small twitch at the corner of Helmut’s mouth that’s drawing his attention, the way his ice blue eyes turn warm still fixed on him, focussed just on him, not at Tom by his side.

“I believe you,” Helmut says simply, his voice quiet yet sincere, the strength of his faith unshakable.

_You do?_ Andre wants to ask, the simple words like absolution. He clings to them, to Helmut’s steady gaze on him, never wavering to even glance at Tom.

Tom is still laughing, but there’s something hollow to the sound. “Well, aren’t you two cute.” He pats Andre’s thigh patronizingly before he gets up from the bed, righting his neat button-down shirt. “If you’re done with cute, you can come find me,” Tom says over his shoulder. He walks across the small room, stopping next to Helmut who is still standing with his shoulder propped up against the closet. Andre sees the muscles in his jaw twitch as Tom leans in, saying something too quiet to carry across even the small room. Helmut averts his eyes when Tom draws away to continue to the door, following Tom with his attention without moving more than a fraction.

The door falls closed with a quiet plastic sound, sharp as a gun shot in the tense silence of the motorhome.

Helmut exhales, his breath whistling out between his teeth. Andre watches him unclench his jaw, turning around fully to make sure the door is closed, that Tom is on the other side of it before he turns back to face the bed. He uncrosses his arms, flexing his fingers as he does so and takes a step closer to the bed. “You okay?”

Andre swallows, but his throat feels dry, his tongue too thick for his own mouth. He can still taste Tom on his lips, licking them distractedly. He nods. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” His thoughts are a mess. He reaches up to rub his hand over his face, down his neck, flinching when his fingers touch the tender skin Tom had worried between his teeth. “Fuck, I didn’t… I thought he was you.” He drops his hand back to his lap, but his movement has drawn Helmut’s gaze to his neck, frowning.

With a sigh, Helmut gazes over his shoulder again to make sure the door is still closed behind them before he walks the short way to the bed. He sits down on the edge, his sneakers hitting the floor before he draws his legs up onto the bed, sitting against the headboard. “Let me see?” he asks, and Andre turns so that Helmut can inspect his shoulder, feeling the gentle touch of his fingers on his skin. “It’s gonna fade,” Helmut says, his thumb rubbing at the bruise like it’s a stain.

Andre nods, but his throat feels like a lump is restricting his breathing. He moves to lean into Helmut’s side, feeling his arm settle around his shoulders. Lifting his head, he nuzzles along Helmut’s jaw, grateful when Helmut meets him for a kiss.

“Don’t allow him to mess with your head,” Helmut says, his fingers stroking up into Andre’s hair, caressing him soothingly.

“What did he say to you?” Andre asks. He slides down on the bed, resting his head on Helmut’s lap. He closes his eyes, one hand curled around Helmut’s shin.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Andre rolls his head back enough to gaze up at him.

Helmut shakes his head a little. “It doesn’t matter. Tom is trying to rile you up, and he thinks he can play the same shit with me. He can’t. It doesn’t matter.” His fingers rub at Andre’s temple, move down the tense muscles of his neck to start working out some of the tension there. “Try and get some rest. All focus on the race now. I’ll stay here with you.”

He's restless, his body still thrumming from the last hours spent in the car. Whenever he stops, Andre can still feel the vibrations of the engine reverberate from every cell of his body, the shake of the curbs, the swoop of the tarmac. It’s dizzying, so he keeps walking down the paddock from the G-Drive garage, the mood there as subdued as at his own end of the pitlane: finishing Lemans feels like a hollow victory when there isn’t a trophy to take home, the champagne and other alcohol that’s flowing in the paddock now tastes different when it isn’t drunk on the steps of a podium. It still makes him tipsy though, mixing with the adrenaline deprivation slowly running through his body, the lack of proper food. He fingers his phone out of his jeans pocket to occupy his hands, doesn’t really look at the display as he walks along the open garages, greeting and congratulating people as he passes them, seeing the different levels of happiness and disappointment, a different glimpse at every garage door he passes.

His phone vibrates in his hands, indicating an incoming message. Neel’s name heads the short message below: _better come pick up your belongings in our room, before someone throws them out_. There’s a winking emoji attached to the words.

Andre frowns, trying to remember in what state he’s left his things in the room the team assigned him and Neel to share behind their garage, little more than a closet big enough for two beds and to turn around in. It’s a little ridiculous, what with all the drivers having their own motorhomes just a couple hundred meters down the paddock, but there is a micro-management within the team that demands them never further than an arm’s length away during the race, as if any of the drivers would want to disappear by themselves anyway. He’s got a vague memory of his racing overall and spares hung from the upper bed in the room, the bag he’d brought along somewhere on the floor, probably more of a mess than he remembers. Neel is right, he should see that everything gets packed; one of the reasons he had wandered down to G-Drive had been to confirm the time they would all head back to Paris that night, using his restless legs instead of the easier choice of a text message or call; it’s only a couple hours until the car will pick them up. Andre hopes he will be drunk enough by then to pass out in the car and get a couple hours sleep, just the thought of sitting in the simulator the next morning making his muscles ache from exhaustion.

In lieu of anywhere else to be, anything else to do right now, Andre steers his path back to the Rebellion garages. Loud music is blasting out the open doors, the engineers somewhere between partying and the necessary dismantling of the equipment. Andre tries to put on a brave face for the round of back slaps and shoulder pats as he walks past, smiling at them, exchanging a couple of words. They did the best they could, like everyone in the team; it isn’t their fault that their car isn’t a hybrid. It’s no one’s fault. Still, the defeat isn’t any easier to take.

It’s much quieter in the motorhome behind the garage. The small corridor is deserted, the only sounds coming through the walls from the paddock outside, muted by the insulated walls.

When he opens the door, his eyes immediately fall on the neatly cleaned up half of the room that Neel had occupied: the sheets are folded on his bed, the used overalls the team will take back to the factory to launder put into their bag waiting to be picked up, no stray possessions cluttering around. Andre’s half of the room is still an untidy chaos. And in the midst of it, Helmut has curled up on Andre’s bed, snoring quietly.

Andre can feel the soft smile tugging at his mouth as he stands in the doorway, still holding onto the handle. For a moment, he wants to close the door, let Helmut get the rest he needs; he knows that Helmut probably hadn’t gotten any shut-eye at all during the race, his responsibility for all of them meaning he’d felt the need to be awake should any of the drivers or anyone else of the team need anything. Andre himself had tried to convince him to sleep in the early hours of morning, but Helmut had just shrugged him off, sending Andre off to rest with a hug and a kiss stolen in the feeble privacy of the dark paddock some time before dawn. But Andre also knows that before long the rooms will be cleared out, and that Helmut would sleep much more comfortably in their shared motorhome down in the paddock, even though Andre won’t be able to fall asleep with him there, the drive back to Paris coming ever closer.

Closing the door behind himself, Andre starts moving around the room quietly, starting to pack up his things. He keeps an eye on Helmut, watching out whether the noise will wake him, but Helmut barely reacts even when one of the clothes hooks clatters to the floor when Andre takes down his overalls to ball them into their bag. It doesn’t take him more than a couple minutes to clear everything away, only the bed still waiting to be stripped down. After another surveying look around the small room, Andre turns back to the bed and drops to his knees next to the low frame of the lower bed.

“Hey.” Andre reaches out, stroking his hand over Helmut’s shoulder. Helmut is lying on his side, his head resting on the pillow, one arm curled below it. He shifts under Andre’s touch, still clinging to sleep. “I really don’t want to wake you, but you should have gone back to our motorhome,” he says, keeping his voice low. He can feel the moment Helmut slips from sleep to drowsy wakefulness through his hand resting on his shoulder.

“’m just resting my eyes. How long until the finish?” Helmut mumbles without opening his eyes.

Andre smiles. “The race ended a couple hours ago.”

“Hmm. Did you win?” Helmut’s hand moves to the edge of the mattress, reaching out for Andre unseeingly. Andre links their fingers together.

“No,” he answers truthfully, swallowing the disappointment about the race result. He doesn’t want to think about it now.

“Sucks,” Helmut says, then yawns. He blinks one eye open, squinting against the light of the overhead lamp. He scoots back a couple centimetres until his face is in the shadow thrown by the bed above and tugs on Andre’s hand. “Come here.”

Andre allows Helmut to pull him onto the small bed and into his arms. “I haven’t even sat down yet in fear of falling asleep. If they find both of us passed out here, that’s all your fault,” he whispers. He leans in, kissing the tired smile off Helmut’s lips. He expects the kiss to be chaste, but Helmut cups his cheek, his fingers stroking up Andre’s jaw to hold his head in place as he licks into his mouth. With a content little noise Andre gives in, handing himself over to be thoroughly explored. It’s a slow, almost lazy kiss, but it’s deep and with a growing familiarity between them, making Andre’s toes curl in the sneakers he didn’t bother to slip out of. It ignites on the restlessness Andre is feeling inside, want curling low in his stomach. He presses closer, shifting to tangle his legs with Helmut’s, press one leg between his and feeling the pressure of Helmut’s muscular thigh against his own hardening cock in return.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Andre murmurs between kisses. Helmut makes a questioning noise which in return makes Andre grin. “Sneaking off with you between stints in the car,” he explains what’s on his mind, rubbing his hips against Helmut to make sure he feels that he’s hard. “Not just this year,” he confesses.

“Fuck, Andre.” Helmut groans. Andre nuzzles along his jaw, grateful when Helmut lifts his head to allow Andre more space to kiss along his neck to the collar of the long-sleeved shirt he is wearing. His hand strokes down Helmut’s flank to the hem of his shirt, drawing it up to touch skin, fingers tracing a path to his back, playing through the dips on either side of his spine, tracing down the bumps of his vertebrae to where they disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. His fingers follow them back to the front until he can rub his thumb over the button holding them closed.

“Are you going to stop me?” Andre asks. He kisses Helmut’s lips again, waiting for the inevitable touch of Helmut’s hands pushing him away, the shake of his head or the words to stop, but Helmut just groans quietly, touching Andre’s jaw to tilt his head for another deep kiss.

It’s all the permission and encouragement Andre needs. He breaks the kiss with a playful nip at Helmut’s lips, before he moves down the bed, his fingers already making quick work of the button and zipper of Helmut’s jeans. He pushes the jeans aside, humming contently when his fingers close around the rigid length of Helmut’s hard cock, stroking him through the fabric of his underwear. The mattress shifts under them as Helmut turns onto his back. Andre sits back, straddling one of his legs, his own hips canting forwards to rub himself against the flexing muscle of Helmut’s thigh. He sighs, allowing his eyes to roam over Helmut’s body, the way his shirt is rucked up, revealing the skin of his stomach, the soft hairs there leading down to where Andre’s hand is kneading at his cock, the material of his underwear darkening slightly where it’s becoming wet from precome. Andre wants to strip him out of his clothes, spread him out over the narrow bed, lick him all over. He can tell that Helmut hasn’t had time for a shower yet, his skin salty from too many hours running around the garage. He shifts further down the bed, ending up on the small stretch of floor in between the end of the bed and the wall behind himself, as he nuzzles along Helmut’s stomach to the hem of his underwear, the splayed fabric of his opened jeans. They’re stained with dark smudges of machine oil, lighter drops of the fragrant massage oil he likes to use, and Andre presses his nose there, breathing it all in, feeling Helmut’s fingers comb through his hair. It calms him down, and for the first time since he’s left the car he can feel his thoughts stop racing, his mind focus on the here and now. He tilts his head, closing his mouth around the tip of Helmut’s dick over the stretched fabric of his underwear covering it, sucking at the taste of him.

“God, Andre.” Helmut groans. He stretches, his body undulating under Andre, pushing his hips up towards Andre in offering, and Andre gives in, hooking his fingers beneath the hem of Helmut’s jeans and underwear, dragging them down to midthigh. It’s not perfect, the fabric hindering them both, but this isn’t the place to get naked, the time already running out on them. Andre doesn’t want to waste any more of it, his hands settling onto Helmut’s hips to hold him steadily against the mattress as he takes him into his mouth, taking him in deep, all the way. Helmut makes another choked up noise, his hand which isn’t tangled in Andre’s hair hitting the wall, trying to find somewhere to hold on as Andre swallows around him.

Andre sinks into it, his eyes closing as he licks and kisses at Helmut’s cock, lets him slip from his mouth to rub his cheek against it, nuzzles at his skin and licks into the crease where hip turns into thigh. Helmut shifts under him, trying to spread his legs to give Andre as much space as possible, growling frustratedly when the jeans still around his thighs restricts his movements. His desperation makes Andre smile, bite a bruise into his thigh as he moves his hand to palm his cock, jerk him off languidly.

There’s a noise outside, the snap of a door, footsteps and Bruno’s voice talking in animated Portuguese in the narrow corridor outside. Andre lifts his head, his ears perked to follow the noise outside, entirely still except for the steady movement of his hand over Helmut’s cock. He glances up, seeing Helmut take shallow breaths, visibly trying to compose himself. Another door snaps, Bruno’s voice coming through the thin wall on the other side of the room, beyond Neel’s abandoned bed. It sounds like he’s on the phone, his voice coming in bursts in between moments of silence.

Andre grins, pressing a kiss to the base of Helmut’s cock. “Don’t be too loud,” Andre murmurs, before he takes the tip of his cock back into his mouth, his hand squeezing tightly around the base as he sucks on the tip. Helmut’s hips buck helplessly, but he bites back a moan, only a breathless curse escaping him.

With his attention split between Helmut beneath him and the noise outside, Andre has become aware of the time again. As much as he wants to draw it out, this isn’t the situation for drawn out lovemaking. They’ve become familiar enough with each other physically, that Andre can use his knowledge of Helmut’s body easily by now, and he uses the advantage shamelessly, sucking and kissing where he knows Helmut likes it best, applying all his skills to wind up the arousal inside him. Before long Helmut is thrusting steadily up into Andre’s mouth, panting quietly.

“Andre,” Helmut groans, biting his lip. Andre smirks around his cock, sucking him deep into his mouth again, swallowing around his cock feeling Helmut go all tense beneath him as he comes. He forces himself to stay down, swallowing around him again despite feeling his eyes burn as he can’t take a breath, swallowing a last time before he has to draw back, the taste of come smearing over his tongue. He takes a breath, licking at Helmut’s cock, feeling him slowly go soft beneath the flat of his tongue, twitchy and oversensitive.

Helmut’s hands comb through his hair aimlessly, petting at his face. His fingers curl into the back of Andre’s collar, tugging on him. “Come here,” he murmurs groggily.

Andre takes his time, kissing at his cock again before he pulls his underwear and jeans back up, doing up his zipper and button. Only then does he climb back onto the bed alongside Helmut’s body. They meet for a long, slow kiss, sharing the taste of Helmut’s come between them.

“God, I love you,” Helmut whispers against Andre’s jaw, drawing him close. Andre whines, pressing his head into the pillow to give Helmut more space to explore along his neck. They should call it quits, return to their motorhome before taking this any further, but damn it, he’s riled up and he wants to come. He cants his hips forwards, pushing one leg in between Helmut’s, grateful when Helmut gets the hint and moves his own leg forwards for Andre to rub against, firm friction through his jeans. His fingers move from the back of Andre’s shirt collar to the front, quickly undoing the top two buttons to give himself more space to bite and kiss at Andre’s skin. Andre moans quietly, giving himself over to Helmut’s explorations, making a questioning noise when all of a sudden Helmut stops and leans back. He opens his eyes, blinking at him. Helmut’s eyes are focused on Andre’s neck where his fingers have pushed his shirt aside, thumb rubbing along the line of Andre’s collarbone.

“I hate how he’s treating you,” Helmut says, irritation laced into his quiet voice. It takes Andre a moment to catch on to what he means, before Helmut’s thumb brushes over the bruise that’s dark and angry looking against the pale skin of Andre’s neck. Tom’s mark has barely faded yet, and Andre finds himself averting his eyes, bites the inside of his cheek. “Like you’re just a toy he can pick up and toss away at will. Like you’re not even a person.” He dips his head, resting his cheek against Andre’s for a long moment, his breathing loud where it rushes over Andre’s ear. He moves his head, licking at the soft skin beneath Andre’s ear, following the long line of his neck.

“I’m not his,” Andre murmurs. He wraps his arms around Helmut’s body, drawing himself closer. There are too many layers of clothes between them; he wants to feel the heat of Helmut’s skin, wants to curl up into him. He makes a soft keening noise when he feels Helmut’s teeth against his neck, nipping at his skin. “I’m not. I want to be yours.”

The sudden pain of Helmut’s teeth biting at his neck, sucking at the bruise that’s still tender sitting under his skin wrenches an undignified squeak from Andre’s throat which quickly turns into a low groan.

“Quiet,” Helmut murmurs, one arm snuck around Andre’s shoulder to hold him in place as he kisses his neck soothingly for a moment before he bites at his skin again, his other hand snuck in between their bodies, undoing the button on Andre’s jeans to push his hand inside. Andre’s hips buck forwards too riled up already. His body goes pliant under Helmut’s hands and mouth, giving himself over to the pleasure the sharp points of his teeth and the sure touch of his hand draws from him, his nerves tingling.

“Yours,” Andre repeats quietly, his breathing becoming ragged. He can feel Helmut’s hand around his dick, the pad of his thumb swiping over the tip. There isn’t really enough space between their entangled bodies to jerk him properly, but the way his fingers are playing over his dick is maddeningly intense to his nerves still singing with the adrenaline drop after the race, and he doesn’t need much to get there, to release the pressure, the built up recklessness that’s just waited for the outlet, something visceral to make him let go. “Fuck,” Andre curses, then bites his tongue to keep in the noises that want to spill from his throat as his cock jerks within Helmut’s tight fist, come shooting from it in thick drops to soil the inside of his underwear, to smear Helmut’s hand. “Yours,” he says again, almost a sob in between his harsh intakes of breath, grateful when Helmut lets go of his shoulder with a last soothing swipe of his tongue, lifting his head to kiss Andre’s mouth.

“Mine.” Helmut says the word like he’s got to wrap his head around it first, like he doesn’t really know what to think about it. He kisses Andre’s lips, dragging his hand still stained with Andre’s come from his pants, up between their bodies, breaking the kiss to look at his fingers before he leans in, starting to lick them clean. With a soft sigh Andre dips his head, chasing Helmut’s tongue around his fingers, the familiar taste of his own spunk spreading over his tongue as he licks some from Helmut’s fingers. Helmut curls his fingers towards him, and Andre sucks them into his mouth in a shallow repeat of his earlier actions, his tongue moving around the fingers like it had danced around Helmut’s cock, making him groan in turn. “Mine,” Helmut repeats, his voice surer now as he slips his fingers from Andre’s mouth to grasp his jaw, smearing his own saliva and the residue of his come there as he tilts his head for the perfect angle to claim his mouth in another deep kiss.

Helmut rolls onto his back. Andre moves with him, burying his face against Helmut’s neck as he rests half on top of him, just basking in their closeness. He can still feel the last tendrils of his orgasm creeping along his nerves, the release of tension after the frustrating race slowly seeping out of him. He wants to stay like this, strip them both down, get under the blanket, no matter how small the bed is, but Bruno’s voice is still coming from the other room, making him aware how feeble the privacy is, how soon they will likely be discovered.

“When are you leaving for Paris?” Helmut asks as if reading Andre’s thoughts, having returned to combing his fingers through his hair.

“After dinner, between 9 and 10. We’ll be in Paris around midnight,” Andre explains what he’s discussed with Jev and Carl earlier. He hopes their car will be big enough to nap in, the thought of the short night before the sim time tomorrow already setting his nerves on edge. He forces himself to stay in the moment, not to allow the circling thoughts in just yet; his time with Helmut is short enough not to taint it with the anxiety about all the decisions he’ll have to make over the next days. He strokes his palm down Helmut’s torso instead, sliding it under the hem of his shirt to feel the warm skin of his body, stifling a yawn against his neck.

“We should go,” Helmut suggests, but his voice doesn’t really sound like he wants to get up either. They really should leave though; the room smells like sex, and Andre is sure they both look ravished enough that anyone sticking their head in to check the room would easily be able to add two and two together and come up with something around four. There’s a recklessness in being discovered, a thrill he’s been flirting with more than once over the years, but there’s still too much at risk as long as the ink hasn’t dried under his new contracts yet, as long as he’s still up in the air. He can’t risk the end of his career just now, even though with every day he’s becoming less and less sure about whether he’ll get another shot at Lemans, least at all another – real – chance at winning it. That too is a thought for another day though, and he pushes it away along with the thoughts about immediate discovery in favour of another long kiss, another two minutes of stolen time.


End file.
